Book 1: Chapter 44 - The Saint of Silver [Part 2]
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Frest looked on, worried in more ways than one.
“Lady Seraphina, was that altogether wise…” Eloise questioned of her mistress.
“Perhaps not, but the message was clear. We of the Sariens will not be pushed around by a tyrant of a king. And Eloise, we will discuss this later. We are still under the King’s roof,” she replied, a little too quickly betraying her unease.
“Frest,” she called out.
“Yes, milady,” he answered.
“We are moving out. Have your men on high alert and prepared for anything,” she commanded.
“Of course, Lady Seraphina. With that stunt you pulled back there wouldn’t be half surprised if the King himself sent the army after you,” he replied with a very casual shrug, the rasp of metal on metal seeming almost comical with the human gesture.
“Frest, have I ever told you that you are a very disrespectful man?” she said haughtily.
Frest grinned. “All the time, milady. But you also said that you needed someone to tell you the truth as they see it.”
“I should have you whipped when we get back,” she answered with a sniff.
“Only if you are the one to be doing it… The one who passes the sentence should be the one who sees it done… and all of that. Don’t know about nobles and their fancy tastes,” he answered, scratching the back of his helmet with a mailed hand.
“I can not take you anywhere, can I? Please, enough of the childish innuendo. Just get us out of here safely, please,” Seraphina bit back acerbically, getting more annoyed by the moment.
*****
Back in her room at the Gilded Gryphon, Seraphina could almost taste the tension in the air. Two knights, fully armored and clutching their swords, stood vigil outside her door. Frest had insisted the women all stay together for safety, so now Eloise and Miriam shared Seraphina’s quarters. Meanwhile, Haze was downstairs in the common room, performing one of Seraphina’s favorite songs to a rapt audience.
Not long before, Seraphina had quietly warned the innkeeper, Vellens, that there was a plot afoot against her life, the soon-to-be queen-in-waiting. He had gone pale at her words and vowed, with a quavering voice, to reinforce the inn’s security.
But Seraphina’s recent machinations at Court had already borne fruit: the Crown Prince Vellens now stood in her chamber, currently receiving a withering glare from Miriam. Eloise couldn’t quite conceal her own fluttering glances in his direction either; clearly, young hearts never forget their first loves.
His “incognito” costume was laughably inadequate—though the dull colors and simple style hinted at a commoner’s attire, the cloth was new and expertly tailored. And no disguise could dim the regal carriage of one born to rule. Even downstairs in the bustling common room, heads had turned the instant he entered; the Prince’s bewilderment at being recognized spoke volumes about his inexperience beyond the palace walls.
Now, in the tension-charged hush of Seraphina’s room, the Prince erupted in dismay. “What were you thinking, Seraphina, speaking to my father like that? Are you out of your mind?” His voice quivered with frustration.
Seraphina, seated at her vanity, caught his reflection in the mirror and refused to face him directly. Her gaze was icy, unwavering. “Your father insulted my House. It was the only proper response.” Her lips curled into a faint, half-mocking smile as she arched a delicate eyebrow. “Tell me, Vellens, could it be that you finally worry for me, your bride-to-be? You, who could not even make an appearance at Court?” She pressed a hand to her mouth in a feigned show of surprise.
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From the far corner, Eloise shifted uncomfortably, her voice soft as she ventured, “Perhaps the Prince was occupied with matters of state?”
Seraphina gave Eloise a frosty look, and at once her lady-in-waiting lowered her eyes. “I think I’ll prepare us some tea,” Eloise said quickly, unable to withstand the weight of Seraphina’s gaze. She rose to go, only for the Crown Prince Vellens to raise a hand to halt her.
“It is as Lady de Laney said,” he began, then hesitated. “Though…not exactly with matters of state.”
At the realization that the Crown Prince had recalled her name, Eloise’s cheeks flushed. Feeling both flustered and excited, she hurried out any way to arrange the promised tea. Miriam, however, remained steadfastly by Seraphina’s side, her glare fixed on Vellens as if he were a wild beast.
“Will you tell your maid to stop looking at me as though I were some sort of monster?” the Prince demanded with a laugh that wavered and died almost instantly. “I’ve faced my share of them, I’ll have you know!” He tried to continue in a joking manner.
Seraphina cast him a cool glance. “So, enlighten me, Your Highness—what were these pressing matters that stole you away?” Her tone dripped with disinterest.
Being young, Vellens leapt to defend himself. “I—I am a bronze-level adventurer, responsible for—”
She cut him off mercilessly. “Tell me, then…were you busy whoring? The ladies of ill repute here in the capital speak of a Crown Prince who lavishes them with coin.” A delicate flick of her hair feigned annoyance, though the venom in her voice felt all too real.
At the mention of this rumor, Miriam’s gaze sharpened with new hostility, and Vellens flushed at the accusation. “N-no, it wasn’t like that—”
Seraphina sighed dramatically. “So perhaps you were too deep in your cups, or gambling away the people’s taxes instead?” She stood, facing him. For a moment, she nearly lost herself in the intense gray of his eyes—eyes that, she recalled bitterly, had captivated many other girls before her. “All my life,” she began—
Eloise returned then, ushering in servants bearing a polished tea set. They arranged cups and saucers on a circular oak table inlaid with bronze. Seraphina took her seat with royal poise, and Vellens reluctantly followed suit. Pouring tea for everyone, Eloise stole unguarded glances at the Prince, a trace of lingering affection in her gaze.
Though vexed by the interruption, Seraphina pressed on. “All my life,” she repeated more forcefully, “I have trained to be a suitable bride for you. Etiquette and decorum. Poetry, dance, flower arrangement. I speak four languages, know a fair bit of mathematica, theology, and diplomacy—all so that one day I could support you when you ascended the throne. And yet, on a day that was so important to my future, you were nowhere to be found. Where were you when I needed you? When your father threatened to throw me into Castle Aran’s dungeon?”
“I—” he spluttered, words failing him.
“You’re supposed to be a man,” she continued, her voice tight. “But all I see before me is a boy—beautiful, yes, but a boy lacking substance. I was raised on the example of my father’s love for my mother, a love so great that bards still sing of it here in the capital. That was what I dreamed of for myself, selfishly perhaps. But you…you come here disguised as if I were a shameful secret.”
Eloise, unused to seeing her mistress appear so wounded, began to question her own admiration for the Prince, an example of the raw force of Seraphina’s Charisma. She shot him a disapproving glare that echoed Miriam’s silent anger.
“If that is how you see me, Lady Seraphina,” Vellens said, voice unsteady, “then there are no words that can—”
“A flippant response,” Seraphina snapped back. “Words are empty without action, Vellens. You should think on why you even carry that sword at your hip. Please go. I wish to be alone. I do not think I can bear the sight of you.”
Vellens looked as if he wanted to say something to his defense, but he soon realized the folly of that. With shoulders sagging in shame, the Prince withdrew. Seraphina watched from the window as he left the Gilded Gryphon with a group of fellow adventurers, his head bowed in defeat. She knew that his heart bled for her now—she was once an existence that he had taken for granted but was now growing out of reach. This would only serve to enflame his desire all the more.
She allowed herself a small, knowing smile. His vulnerability and sense of inadequacy in the shadow of his father, King Elidion—those same insecurities that had once drawn him to the comforting arms of Este Lize—had proven easy for Seraphina to exploit. With this manipulation, she had not only tightened her hold on Vellens’s devotion, but also driven a wedge between the Prince and the King.
Not to mention that she would be able to use his white-knight syndrome to guide him down whatever path she wished.
It was, she reflected, another victory. One step closer to her ultimate goal.